


can't keep my hands to myself (don't want to)

by Damkianna



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assumptions, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Extra Treat, F/F, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damkianna/pseuds/Damkianna
Summary: When the imperial delegation reached Tadmir with Livia Domitia Sabina at its head, Anzaze was ready for it. She could hardly fail to be: six times already, Livia had come to collect the tribute owed the emperor of the Latians. And six times, she'd made it clear she wouldn't mind being invited into Anzaze's bed; six times, Anzaze had refused her.But this time it would go differently. This time, Anzaze would let Livia see the break in her lines; and Livia, general that she was, would rush the opening without fear, and press her further still:So you do want it after all. Take me to your cold bed, then, little queen, and let me set it to burning. Say you will.And this time, Anzaze would lift her head and meet Livia's eyes, and say calmlyYes.





	can't keep my hands to myself (don't want to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spotonchecks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spotonchecks/gifts).



> All your thoughts and prompts for this pairing were irresistible, spotonchecks! I just hope you enjoy this, and that you've had a fantastic OWEx. :D

 

 

When the imperial delegation reached Tadmir with Livia Domitia Sabina at its head, Anzaze was ready.

After all, there were no surprises left for her. Six years since her husband had ridden away to fight, and the Latians had sent his soldiers back with his head; this would be the seventh. Six years since she'd taken his place and negotiated peace with their emperor. And each year, the emperor had sent his most accomplished general to smile and speak fine words, and to accept in his name the tribute he required of Tadmir, the price they paid for their surrender: silver, wheat, flour, wine, saplings of a dozen sorts of fruit trees, a hundred and twenty fine strong horses trained by the desert tribes in the south—because her offer of camels had been refused, for the Latians had no idea how to ride them.

And six times already, Anzaze had done exactly this: sat waiting in all due state, borne upon a palanquin and draped in jewels and fine linens, shaded by servants with long thick palm leaves, as the cloud of dust and motion that was the Latians arriving drew nearer. Six times, and every time the same: the Latians would ride along the great colonnaded avenue, a full legion of them. They would come to a halt before the palace, and Anzaze would rise and bid them welcome, and say bland pleasant words about the emperor, and offer them all Tadmir's hospitality.

And it would be Livia Domitia Sabina who replied, because it always had been before. When they removed at last to the cool shaded interior of the palace, to the queen's hall—the Latian who met Anzaze there would be Livia, too.

Livia would be as tall and gray-eyed as she had ever been, the fall of her long dark hair as glorious. She would drop into the seat brought for her, sprawl back with a creak of leather armor, all the lean muscled lines of her on display; she would tilt her head and eye Anzaze with speculative heat, as she always did. She would summon some scribe or docent or other to relay the emperor's terms, because she wasn't expected to put forth the effort to remember them herself—and Anzaze would listen to them, calm and attentive, and ignore the weight of Livia's gaze upon her face.

Six times, and every time the same. At some point, the opportunity would arise. Once the scribe had gone, once they were alone, once Anzaze had sent for refreshments but before they'd arrived. There would be a moment's quiet; and then Livia would smile at her, slow and self-satisfied, and murmur: _I'd make it good for you, you know. Has your bed been cold and empty, little queen, since the war? I'm sure you've been a pious and dutiful widow; but it must have been long enough, now, even as such things are reckoned by your people. You've never had a woman like me, have you? And you've waited so long—you must want it so much. You must be parched for it, little queen—_

Six times. But this time, the seventh, Anzaze was ready. This time it would go differently.

This time, when the moment came, she would look away, lower her eyes, hesitate. This time she would let herself think about it, let a flush rise to her cheek.

This time, she would let Livia see the break in her lines; and Livia, general that she was, would rush the opening without fear, and press her further still: _So you do want it after all. Take me to your cold bed, then, little queen, and let me set it to burning. Say you will._

And this time, Anzaze would lift her head and meet Livia's eyes again, and say calmly _Yes_.

 

 

It all went just as she'd expected. Which was a comfort, in its way: that she hadn't lost all sense of herself, or of the circumstances; that she could still trust her own judgment in this, at least a little.

Until the moment after she'd said it at last. Because she said it, quiet and clear and sure, and Livia—

Livia stared at her searchingly, gaze flicking back and forth across her face, lips parting. "Truly?"

"Yes," Anzaze said again, and found it easy enough after all. Perhaps she shouldn't have waited so long; but she'd wanted to be careful. To approach this in the way she'd learned to approach matters, ever since her husband had been killed and had left her a kingdom she'd never expected to rule.

She'd prepared herself for the delegation; she knew there had been drought to the north, that the emperor's campaign to the west dragged on, that most likely this year it wouldn't be a hundred and twenty horses but two hundred and forty. And in much the same way, she'd prepared herself for Livia: who had, the first three years Anzaze had refused her, slept with half a dozen Tadmiri noblewomen in a row instead and left with barely another word to Anzaze. Who was beautiful, hopelessly bright with it, burnished and fierce and shining—and Anzaze knew better than to pit herself against a Latian general without at least ensuring she defended the high ground.

She wouldn't be foolish about this. She couldn't. She understood all too well; Livia would have her and be satisfied, and ride away again. And she—

She would learn what it was like, at last, to have Livia. She knew how to judge the cost of surrender, and for this—she could bear all the quiet ache that would come after, she'd decided. It was not too high a price, for this.

"Truly," Livia said again, and sounded far more like herself: voice slow and honey-thick and pleased. "And here I thought you'd never relent, little queen. Here I thought perhaps you'd go on tormenting me forever—"

"You were wrong," Anzaze said, mild, and Livia tipped her head back and laughed.

"So I was," she agreed, and then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing, and leaned in across the great stone table—

Anzaze looked away, and very carefully didn't think about—about letting her, about Livia catching her about the waist and lifting her up and pressing her backward, all Livia's hot strong weight holding her down against it. "Not yet," she said, very evenly.

Livia was quiet for a moment. "Not _yet_ —" she burst out after a moment, and sounded almost angered.

"No," Anzaze agreed.

Because, the price silently agreed upon and accepted, Anzaze wouldn't let herself be cheated—not even by Livia's own impatience. One night, well, all right: one long slow night, wrung out thoroughly, every drop of it savored, nothing wasted.

"We'll refresh ourselves, and I will send a servant for you," she told Livia, "and you'll come to my chambers; and there will be fruit and wine and honey, and we will be at ease."

She looked up again, knowing her face was calm and placid, showing nothing. Across the table from her, Livia had gone strange and still, and there was something in her expression that Anzaze found she couldn't name or define: a wariness, perhaps, or an uncertainty.

Surely it would be self-important, self-important and presumptuous besides, to call it hope.

"Yes, all right," Livia murmured, the lightness of her tone at odds with the way she was still watching Anzaze so carefully. "Have it your way, little queen."

 

 

In the end, she didn't make Livia wait so long as all that.

She couldn't have, in truth. Yes, there was something—something wondrous, tangibly sweet, in the anticipation. To see Livia settle upon a broad couch in Anzaze's own chambers and take up a slice of melon, licking the sticky juice from her fingertips after, oh, it was—they hadn't touched at all, but it didn't matter. Anzaze's breath came fast, her throat and cheeks were hot, her heart pounded.

She stood, and moved toward Livia, who watched her with those cool gray eyes half-lidded; and she took up the jug of wine and poured a cup, and made herself hold it out to Livia with steady hands.

"My thanks, I'm sure," Livia said, very low, and didn't look away—not as her hand closed around the cup, fingertips sliding between Anzaze's own, nor as she took it, nor as she tilted it to her mouth and drank.

The line of her throat as she swallowed was—Anzaze wanted to touch it. To touch it, to smooth her hand along it; to bite it.

Not yet, she told herself, and bit the inside of her cheek instead.

"Mm. Sweet indeed," Livia said, setting down the empty cup. "But then they say it is, here in Tadmir. Everything in this oasis, they say, grows so much sweeter than elsewhere."

Ah. So that was how she meant to begin. "Do they," Anzaze said softly, and Livia smiled up at her, slow and lazy, and reached out.

Anzaze could have moved away, drawn it out further still; but she didn't. She stayed where she was, well within arm's reach, and Livia caught her by the wrist and came up all at once from the couch—like a trap sprung, except that Anzaze had known and stepped into it anyway. Livia was the taller of them, and to be all at once surrounded by her, tugged in and held close, felt so _good_ ; Anzaze had let her eyes fall shut, given herself over to it, even before Livia brought a hand to her cheek and pressed their mouths together.

And oh, she'd never been kissed this way, not ever. So hotly, so deeply, Livia tilting her face and holding it just where she wished it, fingers gliding swiftly into Anzaze's braids and curls and gripping so tight she felt herself make a strange greedy sound against Livia's lips.

Livia had her by the waist, just at the arch of her back, palm a strong steady warmth through linen and silk—and then suddenly she shifted her grip, hand sliding up Anzaze's side and—and higher, skimming the curve of Anzaze's breast through fabric, sly and teasing.

Anzaze shivered in her grasp and had to break away to gasp, air abruptly scarce; but Livia was unbothered and slowed not at all, leaning in at once to press her mouth instead to Anzaze's jaw and chin, the soft thin skin just beneath her ear, the side of her throat.

"Livia—"

"Mm?"

"Livia," Anzaze said again, and tried to make it less breathless, sterner. She pushed a little, and with reluctance, by degrees, Livia allowed her to ease back—though she didn't look much pleased to do it.

"Surely you can't mean to tell me that wasn't to your taste—"

"No, no," Anzaze said. "That would be a foolish lie to try to tell. But you're still in all your armor, and I want to see you."

And immediately Livia's face changed, that smug sly look coming over her again, and she laughed and tossed her head. "Well, if that's all," she said, and reached up to her own shoulder.

"No," Anzaze said again, and caught her hands—slid her own fingers in quick, between Livia's, before Livia had done more than catch her own laces. "Let me."

Livia went still against her, but didn't move away; and Anzaze brushed her hands aside, worked loose the laces and then the little hooks beneath that held the metal chestplate where it was, before Livia could change her mind.

She hadn't lied: she did want to see Livia. Six years—now seven—and through all of them it had been an undeniable pleasure, even the first time; even when Anzaze had been young and frightened and trying to hide it, she had liked to glance across the palace hall and, for even a moment, look at Livia.

Livia was tall, yes, and there were the eyes, the glorious fall of hair. These things drew attention, but they weren't what held it. That was something else—something in the way she held herself, the angle of her chin; something in the line of her nose and the carriage of her shoulders that managed to make even her arrogance lovely, difficult to look away from. The lines of her, the muscle of forearm and thigh. And of course there was always so much to see, because the armor that she wore to ride to Tadmir was ceremonial, the neck dipping low enough to show the dip at the base of her throat and the skirt of the tunic beneath short and useless.

But to take it off—that was better still.

Livia was tense beneath Anzaze's hands as the armor came away, the metal pieces and then the leather. Anzaze moved around her, and Livia's gaze followed; Anzaze made no effort to meet it and kept her expression placid, but nevertheless she could feel it on her, and by the time it was only that thin tunic left, she was flushed, skin prickling helplessly.

"You meant it," Livia said, low, and Anzaze startled a little and did look at her then.

And oh, what a picture she was like that: pink heat was climbing her throat, too, Anzaze saw, and her breath was coming quick, so that it was hard not to look at the way the tunic draped her shoulders, her chest, her breasts.

"You meant it," Livia said again. "You do want to see me." Her mouth twisted with something that wished it were snide disbelief but wasn't quite. "All the things I could do for you, all the things you must know very well I excel at, and you want to look at me?"

"That, too, would be a foolish thing to try to lie about," Anzaze said after a moment, and Livia made a wordless sound and moved, caught Anzaze in her arms and twisted so that they tumbled down together upon the broad sleeping-couch.

The linens and silk Anzaze wore were loose and draping, hardly in the way at all; Livia had a thigh between hers within an instant, pressed down and rolled her hips and Anzaze could only jerk and shudder up against her, gasping. She—she hadn't realized she was already so wet, but Livia's thigh pushing just where she wanted it most made it obvious, and she let her eyes fall shut and clung to Livia's shoulders, breathing hot and unsteady against Livia's throat.

"And you are parched for it after all," Livia was murmuring against her temple; but her voice was strained a little. Anzaze hardly thought at all, it was—it was only that Livia over her like this was irresistible, and she couldn't lie there passive. She clenched her thighs around Livia's and rolled her own hips up, a clumsy shadow of the way Livia had moved against her.

But Livia sucked in a sharp breath, and—and the tunic had ridden up, almost entirely out of the way, only an edge caught between them. She was as good as bare against Anzaze, and wet too.

And it startled Anzaze distantly, the way that caught a spark alight in her. She thought of what Livia had said, _let me set your cold bed burning_ , and almost laughed; and then Livia reached and put a hand to her cheek and kissed her again—fierce and a little desperate, biting at her lips and tongue, so that it was all Anzaze could do to open up beneath it and take it.

"You like that, too," Livia murmured against her mouth, and her tone was almost harsh, as if she thought Anzaze might argue the point. "You do. Don't you?"

"Yes," Anzaze said instead, unhesitating, gasping—Livia was moving again, pulling away a little, and Anzaze would have yanked her down again except that she was working one of those long strong hands between them where her thigh had been a moment ago, and the heel of her hand was—Anzaze jerked and shuddered, crying out. She couldn't have said when, but somehow the pinned and gathered sleeves that held her layered gown over her shoulders had been nudged aside, and Livia was biting at her throat, licking the hollow of it, teeth against her collarbone. "Yes—yes," she heard herself whisper, again and again, and she closed her eyes and let Livia—Livia, _Livia_ —unmake her.

 

 

Of course they were neither of them satisfied only once, or even twice. Livia was as skilled with her mouth as with her hands, her fingers. Anzaze couldn't claim half as much; but when she murmured quietly that Livia would have to tell her what to do and how, Livia shuddered against her and agreed with a low wondering laugh that she was a general, and knew how to issue clear instructions.

And of course it had been beyond compare, to give herself over to Livia and be undone. But it was another sort of pleasure entirely to discover that she could take Livia apart in her turn, with care and attention and a press of her tongue, a twist of her wrist. Sometimes she found herself thinking that they must keep on until dawn; that she couldn't stop, couldn't give this up, except for sheer exhaustion.

She feared once or twice that something had gone wrong, that instead it would end all too soon. When they had finished and were waiting to recover, now and then, pressed against each other bare and hot and gasping, there was—there was a way Livia looked at her, sharp and searching, and Anzaze didn't know what she was looking for; didn't know whether to hope she found it or not. But if she kissed Livia a little, or rubbed a fingertip along the line of one lean bare hip, or stroked a thumb up the sweet full curve of Livia's breast—Livia would narrow her eyes, mouth tilting wickedly, and that odd heavy quiet would be forgotten.

Which was best, for when this was over Livia would surely be done with her as she'd been done with all the rest, and Anzaze didn't mean to let a moment of it slip away.

But in time, of course, they slept.

Anzaze didn't realize it until she woke; it felt as though it had been only an instant, and the last thing she remembered was Livia against her, Livia's hair between her fingertips, trading long slow kisses in the dark.

But they must have let themselves drift too far, after that, and slipped into dreams. For there was dim early sunlight creeping in from the far chamber that faced the courtyard, and Anzaze's rooms were slowly filling up with light.

Anzaze didn't move in haste. She rose slowly, carefully, so as to leave Livia undisturbed; she found the pile of silk and linen where it had slid forgotten to the floor, and pinned the shoulders back in place. She would have to have something clean brought, of course, but—

But she didn't want to summon a servant yet. Of course it needed to be done, there wasn't any doubt about that, and she had dressed because she wished to, because she felt as though she must—to be naked still when Livia woke, to be seen by her that way in daylight when no doubt Livia was finished with her and satisfied—it would be foolish, and Anzaze wasn't going to be a fool. Not about this.

And yet all the same, this last little stretch of time before it was all truly ended felt fragile, bittersweetly precious, and to call for a servant, even to speak, was to toss it heedlessly away.

Perhaps she had best use the time to master herself, she thought wryly. She'd wished to know what it was to have Livia in her bed; now she did. She'd already known it wasn't Livia's way to linger, and she'd accepted it. Better to be practical about these things, to be wise and calm and sensible, to make decisions in the understanding that their consequences must be borne instead of raging like a child.

She drew in a long slow breath and let it out, and then lowered herself to a cushion by the table. The jug of wine they'd abandoned was still nearly full; she poured herself a cup, and only then did she allow herself to look at the sleeping-couch, and Livia upon it.

Drowsiness softened Livia only a little: the haughty Latian line of her nose, a certain smug angle to her chin, remained even when she wasn't conscious of them. Nearly all the time when she was awake, Livia liked to lounge about, to take up as much space as was given to her and to relax thoroughly within it, mouth slanted and eyes half-lidded; sleep only enhanced the effect, and suited her very well indeed. Anzaze sat and looked at her, watched the honey-gold light climb the curves and angles of her and pool within the hollows, catch and tangle in that long flowing hair—and almost before she knew it, almost before she was ready for it, Livia shifted once and then again, and then opened her eyes.

"Livia," Anzaze said, very evenly, and looked away. "It's past dawn, but not very late. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Livia murmured something into the couch and then yawned and drew herself up, and rubbed at her face. She was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Yes, all right."

And perhaps there had been some warning in her tone, low but too sweet—for she rose from the couch naked and strode to the table, poured a second cup of wine without the least self-consciousness, and when Anzaze looked at her, there was something defiant, silently challenging, in her face.

"So that's all you'd have of me, little queen?" she murmured, in the same manner. "You're finished with me, then. Was it to your satisfaction?"

Anzaze hesitated—foolish error, but she couldn't work out how to answer. Yes, of course it had been; how could such a night be anything less? And yet at the same time satisfaction was beyond her reach, and always had been, and in a way it felt almost cruel of Livia to twist that knife so casually.

"I would have one answer from you, then," Livia said, when Anzaze stayed silent. "Why did you say yes at last? Years now, and always no, and then all at once a yes. Have I changed so much, since last you saw me?"

Anzaze laughed. She hadn't meant to; it was only—Livia, changed? Anzaze could hardly fathom it. Livia, surely, had always been just as she was, and always would be: brazen and commanding and beautiful. She shook her head, and tried to recover herself, saying mildly, "No, not at all. It was only that last I saw you, I hadn't come to a decision about it; and this time I had. That's all."

"Come to a decision about it," Livia repeated, very low and precise, and set her cup down. "Ah, yes. Because of course it's all decision with you: the terms of the offer before you, and where the cost lies, and how it will be paid. And I suppose you think now our transaction's complete, and we're finished for the year?"

Her mouth had begun to twist bitterly, and Anzaze felt suddenly wary, as though she had come to unsteady ground and must place her feet with care. She strove to keep her voice level. "Isn't that how you always do it? You forget, perhaps, that I've seen you engaged in such matters before. My women never complain of you, only sigh and whisper to each other dreamily; but you've never touched any of them twice."

"None of them were you," Livia said, sharp.

Anzaze stared at her.

" _Years_ , you've made me wait," Livia said, a flush climbing her throat. "The first time—yes, all right, I was younger, I was stupid. My people killed your husband, and there I was asking you to—I should have kept my mouth shut." She bit her lip and shook her head, impatient. "But I couldn't give it up so easily as that, because I _wanted_ you. I came back again, and again, and still you wouldn't have me.

"I began to think it would never happen, but I couldn't stop asking. And now at last you give in, and bestow upon me a single night, and think I'm satisfied? As if I'd wandered starving, and you let me join your feast—and then, thinking me fed, send me away, though I'll be hungry again tomorrow—"

"Livia," Anzaze said, and then didn't know what to say after.

Livia stood there, bare and stern and uncompromising, and her mouth went flat. "The emperor is concerned about tensions in the east rising," she said, and for a moment Anzaze couldn't make any sense of it; what did she mean by that? And then Livia swallowed and lifted her chin, and added, "He offered me a posting, and among the terms I'm permitted to offer you are that Tadmir, our loyal ally, may enjoy imperial protection. A legion, and a general, and if I may keep an eye on the eastern border for him from here, so much the better."

Anzaze sat very still, and made herself think. "Of course I'm grateful for the emperor's generosity, and filled with admiration for his wisdom and his foresight," she began carefully—and then Livia made a small angry sound and rounded the table, knelt down and caught Anzaze by the shoulders and shook her.

"What do you _want_?" Livia said, low and steady. "Ask me! Only ask, and you may have what you will of me—"

"Stay," Anzaze heard herself say.

" _Yes_ ," Livia said, and caught her close in those lean strong arms, and kissed her—kissed her till she gasped, till her mouth was hot and sore, but Anzaze couldn't let her go. Couldn't: didn't want to, only squeezed her eyes shut and clung tighter, and kissed back.

 

 


End file.
